Dumbledore's Eleven
by Seas and Shadows
Summary: After the London Sanctum was destroyed, Stephen Strange realizes that someone needs to help guard it, too. On the other side of the world, Albus Dumbledore finds the perfect candidate... Sirius Black. Just one problem: He's currently locked up in the biggest, baddest prison in the world. In which the Cloak is a kleptomaniac, Stephen is irresponsible and Sirius is confused.
1. Chapter 1

"So." Stephen Strange said, dumping a large pile of books onto the desk. "What are we going to do?"

Wong, the librarian of the Hong Kong Sanctum, scratched Stephen's name off the overdue list. "I'm not sure what you mean."

"Don't act like you don't know." The sorcerer grumbled. "The London Sanctum, remember? It's in a worse state than Britney Spears' career." The Cloak handed Wong another stack of manuscripts.

Stephen looked up at Wong's face, scanning him for any reactions. His Cloak helpfully poked Wong's cheek to make sure his expression wasn't made of stone. "No? Doesn't ring a bell?"

"Your point is?" Wong asked.

"My point is that you've _never_ heard of _anyone,_ and that doesn't even make sense since you keep _gossip magazines_ in the back and-" He took a deep breath. "Okay, nevermind. What I'm saying is, aren't we going to do anything about the London Sanctum?"

Wong frowned. "Why would we?" He began to take the books off of the desk, checking the covers before sorting them on a trolley.

"I thought we guarded all the Sanctums. Shouldn't we… I don't know, fix it up?"

"Yes. You are American, so you defend the New York Sanctum Sanctorum. The students that live here guard this Sanctum. And the wizards in England are in charge of the London Sanctum."

Wong moved to take the trolley away, but Stephen grabbed his arm before the librarian could leave. "Is there anyone there that I might know? They could use some help rebuilding the Sanctum, right?"

"None that have trained here." Wong said. He grabbed a book from under the desk, opening for Stephen to see. "This is a list of all the living sorcerers who guard the Sanctums. You see? No one that either of us had ever heard of. What goes on in the London Sanctum is none of my business, and it should be none of yours, either."

Stephen quickly scanned the two pages. The left page was dedicated to all the guardians of the New York Sanctum. His name was the only one on the list that wasn't blotted out. The London Sanctum, on the opposite page, was filled entirely with names, some scratched out, others added in on the margins, and several more snuck between the lines.

None of them were familiar to Stephen. When the librarian wasn't looking, he picked up a pen from the table, clumsily jotting down ' _and the Cloak'_ with shaking hands.

He looked back at Wong, who was already pushing the loaded trolley away. "Wait!" The sorcerer slid around the desk, chasing after the librarian.

"What now?" Wong grumbled. He stopped, allowing Stephen to catch up.

"I thought everyone trained at the Hong Kong Sanctum," Stephen began. "How come I've never met a single Brit in my entire-" He quickly added up the weeks he had trained. "My entire six months?"

"They have their own schooling systems." Wong answered, frowning. "How have you never heard of this? They prefer the interior branches of magic, and they're already xenophobic enough. The British magicians dislike other countries."

Stephen gaped. "You mean that there's an entire society of people that _just_ study interior magic? That's crazy!"

"I know," Wong said, rolling his eyes. "How do you think I'm able to tell you?"

"But – But – Think of the possibilities, Wong! There are people studying and exploring a _single_ aspect of magic!" Stephen spluttered. "They've probably mastered everything you could think of! Interior magic's vague enough for us as it is, and-"

Wong gave Stephen a flat stare. "I have books to shelve, Strange. If you're going to continue telling me things I already know, will you please _get out?!"_

Stephen backed away, Sling Ring already on his fingers. "Alright, alright. I'm going."

" _And no Sling Rings in the library!"_ Wong yelled, but it was too late. Stephen was already gone.

O-O-O-O-O

The moment the portal closed up, Stephen turned back to the Cloak. "Did you get it?"

The Cloak gave its equivalent of a nod, unfurling a corner to reveal the book Wong had shown him.

"You're the greatest," Stephen grinned, taking the list from the Cloak's embrace.

Later that night, Stephen was curled up on a couch in front of a roaring fire, flicking through the list with shaking fingers.

The list of British defenders went on for a good thirty-four pages, compared to New York's grand total of one. While most of the names in the beginning we crossed out, most likely meaning retired or deceased, there were still a good three or four dozen still active members defending the Sanctum.

The Cloak snuggled up on his lap, the sorcerer continued to go through the pages.

He should have never doubted Wong, Stephen realized as he went through the book. Obviously the London Sanctum was safe enough in the British's many, many hands.

It was during that precise moment that Stephen witnessed the page scratch Gawain Robards' name off the list.

He stopped, backtracking to the name that had definitely been unmarred three seconds ago.

"Did you do this?" He hissed to the Cloak, and the red cloth gave its approximation of a 'no'.

Eric Munch's name was suddenly eliminated, and both Stephen and the Cloak watched as the ink blotched through the name.

This was bad.

"Something's happening." Stephen hissed, rushing over to the the bookside table to snatch up his Sling Ring.

When the Cloak didn't respond, he grabbed it by the edges and shook out the nonexistent dust, waking it out of its reverie.

" _Something's happening!"_ He repeated, clumsily attempting to stick his fingers into the Sling Ring. "We have to go!"

The Cloak draped itself over his shoulders just as Stephen began to spin his arm, summoning the portal.

In the corner of his eye, Stephen saw another name – a something Proudfoot – get marked off the list.

"No time to tell Wong," He muttered worriedly, bringing up an image of the London Sanctum Sanctorum in his mind. "Just me."

He dived through the portal, the orange glow of a shield spell already shining on his arm.

"Where's the fight?" He gasped, dramatically shutting down the hole behind him.

The room was humiliatingly empty.

He stepped towards one of the doors, and swung it open.

Again, empty.

The only things in the room of any significance were the sentient dining table that was sprouting leaves along its legs and the animated, moving panting. Basic magic.

"Looking for Dumbledore, too, are you?" A voice asked. Stephen jumped, whipping his head around, but there was no one behind him.

"Oh, come on," The voice complained, and Stephen swung his gaze back into the dining room. "Never seen a portrait before, boy?"

It was the man in the painting, he realized with no small amount of shock. "You can talk?" He asked with wonder, stepping closer.

"Well, of course!" The man in the portrait cackled. "Yes, you're one of Dumbledore's! Without a doubt! The old fool always finds the odd ones!"

The Cloak pulled off one of the leaves growing from a table leg. Another one grew back instantly, and so the Cloak ripped off that one too. A large battle promptly ensued.

"Um," Stephen said, before the thought occurred to him that finding somebody else was probably the best course of action. "Uh, yes! I'm off to meet Bundledore! In fact, I'm in a very big rush, so…" He waved his hands.

This was why he came up with his plans beforehand.

The man in the portrait glared suspiciously at Stephen, leaning as far forwards as a two-dimensional oil based painting could. "Yes… Well, just go off to the fireplace, then. I assume even an idiot like you knows how to use the Floo."

Stephen nodded seriously. "Oh, definitely, I know. How about _you_ tell me how to use it so that I know that _you're_ not an idiot."

Behind him, the Cloak began to wrestle with the entire table leg.

"You dare?" The man in the painting asked, taken aback. "Of course I know how to use the Floo! You grab a handful of the powder and sprinkle it on the fire, jump in and say you want to go to Headmaster Dumbledore's office!"

The former surgeon fought the university-driven temptation to take notes. "Headmaster… Dundledore?"

" _Dumbledore_." The portrait enunciated. "D – U – M –"

"No, no, it's fine." Stephen said, searching for the exit the painting had mentioned. "You've been a great help. You're not an idiot at all."

"I would hope not." The man in the portrait sniffed. "Imagine! Me, Oraclitus Spheer, taken to be some common fool! It's blasphemy! Fireplace is in the hall, by the way, fourth door to the left."

The Cloak suddenly snapped the table leg in half, and hurriedly bolted away, dragging its owner along before Stephen could notice.

"Well, then," Stephen ground out, turning around in the Cloak's embrace so he could face the man in the painting. "Have a nice day!"

"You too!" Spheer's portrait said, turning back to his staring contest with the sentient table.

As Stephen and the Cloak left the Sanctum, the painting frowned. "Now then, what have you gone and done to yourself?"

The table burped in reply, sulking over its wounded leg.

Oraclitus Spheer craned his neck to try to see where Stephen had gone. Sadly, being a painting, he was unable to see past the rim of the frame. "You don't think he was lying, do you?"

O-O-O-O-O

 _This Floo Powder compound is amazing,_ Stephen thought, stepping out of the much more cramped fireplace in awe. _A substance that is both easier to use than Sling Rings and easier to market. No doubt the British economy's made a fortune out of this stuff._

"Tea?"

 _With Floo Powder, would you even have to buy tea? Couldn't you just order one, drink up and Floo over to Asia before anyone's even noticed? You could steal anything in the world and never have to worry about the escaping part since it virtually takes no time or effort. How small does a fireplace have to be for the Floo to work? Since it isn't being exploited all around the world, it's got to be several hundreds of dollars a cup. Thousands, even. Wait, it has to be converted to pounds, since it's in Britain. And-_

Stephen looked up. "Wait, what?"

An ancient, withered old man was sitting at a desk, a feathered quill poised over a large stack of paperwork. Beside him, a large red bird was picking at a tray of yellow candies.

Stephen squinted. "So, I'm assuming you're one Headmaster Dumbledore?"

"That would be correct," The old man said. He gestured to a cup of gently steaming tea that had definitely not been there ten seconds ago. "Would you like some tea? It's quite nice. Peppermint."

"Thank you," Stephen said happily, awkwardly picking the small cup up with shaking fingers.

It wasn't a coffee, but Stephen didn't have any money and he was being offered free food. He wouldn't complain.

He suddenly remembered that he was a random stranger that was covered in ash.

Stephen placed down the tea on the deck and shook the soot off the Cloak. He eyed the pile of leaves it had been carrying. "Now, how did you get these?"

The Cloak sheepishly tossed them into the fire – The green flames had already vanished, and had been replaced with warm orange and red ones – and Stephen recalled why he had come here in the first place.

"Oh, so apparently three people guarding the London Sanctum Sanctorum are dead." Stephen said stiffly. As a former surgeon with a perfect record, he wasn't exactly used to informing people about death.

"I mean, I just checked and it doesn't look like anything's wrong there, so maybe it's just a coincidence, but I thought might come and try to help if something's gone bad." He babbled, picking up the tea again.

He took an experimental sip. "This… This is really nice. I'm Doctor Strange, by the way."

Dumbledore appeared quite pale. "Oh, dear. Was a one Mister Proudfoot among the deceased?"

Stephen nodded. The Cloak wandered off his shoulders to play with Dumbledore's various gizmos.

"And you are certain there was no one there?"

"Just a talking painting." The sorcerer said. "By the way, I have to tell you, these talking paintings you guys have are spectacular." He nodded towards the wall full of snoozing portraits behind Dumbledore. "Can you show me how to make them?"

The Cloak picked up a gilded delicate-looking device, and accidentally snapped one of the hinges.

The fact that three people had just died kicked in for Stephen, and he quickly put down the peppermint tea (Which was an easy nine out of ten stars, on Stephen's scale,) and folded his arms. The Cloak got his hint and put down the magical triangulator before it broke the other hinge, too.

"Then I'm afraid they must have irritated the man-eating table." Dumbledore said sadly, stroking the shining feathers of his bird. "They were good men. It will be hard to find anyone else good enough for the Sanctum's holiday shift."

The old man looked up at Stephen. "Is there anything else you came here to inform me of, Mister Doctor?"

Stephen frowned. "Actually, my name is Stephen-"

"But you said earlier that your name was Doctor-"

"No, you see, that's a title, since I used to be a surgeon, and-"

"My apologies, dear boy, I wasn't aware-"

"Oh, no, it's a common mistake-"

The two men fell into an awkward silence. The bird squawked and spat out a wad of fire, setting the Cloak alight.

"Where did you say you were from again?" Dumbledore asked carefully.

"Oh, I'm the new defender for the New York Sanctum, you see, ever since that whole ordeal with Kaecilius and the Sanctorum _here_ got destroyed – Sorry about that, by the way." The Cloak swept around the room in a panic, searching for a source to extinguish the flames. It was completely ignored.

"It was no issue," Dumbledore said. "So _you_ are the new guardian?"

"Yeah, there was this huge battle and everything. Who's the guy in charge of things over here? We really could have used some help with Dormammu and all."

"I am," The withered old man said. "As Supreme Mugwump, I am the one in charge of defending the London Sanctum Sanctorum, as well as recruitment and organization."

Stephen froze.

The Cloak flew out of an open window, and vanished from sight.

"Oh my – Listen, again, I am _so_ sorry about those three guys, I came as fast as I could, but I-"

Dumbledore gave a warm smile. "Quite fine, I tell you. In fact, I've been researching some records, and I think I've found a man who can take their place."

Stephen sagged in relief. "Really? That's great! Tell you what, I'll even help you go get him, I've got heaps of contacts in the medical industry that owe me some favors, and-"

"Just one problem with that." Dumbledore said. The old man's eyes – Bright blue, Stephen noted, – pierced his own. "And I will need to ask you an important question."

"Ask away!" The Sorcerer Supreme said, spreading his scarred and shaking hands. The Cloak rushed back in, steaming gently and shivering.

"What would you do if an innocent man was in jail?"

"Get him out, of course." Stephen said without thinking. Suddenly, his mind began to connect the dots. "Wait a sec, is this replacement guy-"

"The replacement guard for the Sanctum is a convict known as Sirius Black." Dumbledore said, his face utterly solemn. "And I have conclusive evidence that he doesn't belong where he is."

Dumbledore leaned forward. "What would you say if I invited you to help me break into the most secure prison on the planet?"

Stephen stood up, and offered his arm for a handshake. "I'd say you've got a deal, old man."

 **Ocean's 11 has got nothing on Doctor Strange and Dumbledore, y'all. Comment below and tell me who should help them break Sirius Black out of jail!**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, and I don't own Marvel, either.**


	2. Chapter 2

If he was honest with himself, Stephen was way too excited to be plotting the breakout out a convicted felon.

A map of the largest British wizarding prison, known to all as 'Azkaban', was spread across Dumbledore's desk. The two men had spent hours devising schemes and ideas to sneak inside, and compared notes over each other's abilities and knowledge of the magical world.

An idea clicked in the sorcerer's mind. "Wait a second. The Dementors guarding the cells have to allow some people in, right? Like, guards, and the government and all of that."

Dumbledore popped one of those yellow candies into his mouth, nodding gently. "To an extent. Only the most important members among the Ministry are allowed access, and the guards only go into the cell blocks when the Dementors report a problem."

"So why don't we just use that Polly-juice thing you said before-"

"The Polyjuice Potion," Dumbledore corrected. "Takes several difficult months to brew, and impossible to buy from anywhere except the Ministry, which requires a four-hour interview to determine what you intend to use the potion for. The entire time, you are held under a truth potion, and should you prove to desire to use the potion for undesirable purposes, you are imprisoned for a total of eight and a half months.

"Aside from that," the old man said. "It requires a physical sample of the person you would imitate, and Azkaban has several defenses against such disguises."

Stephen cursed under his breath. The Cloak swiped one of Dumbledore's quills.

"Hypnosis?" He suggested. "We could get one of the guards to come by, unlock the cell, let him out. Easy."

"Both Compulsion charms and the Imperius are rendered inert inside Azkaban's defenses." Dumbledore said. "And besides, I think you would have an extremely large amount of trouble finding someone who is willing to use one of the three Unforgivables."

Stephen glared at the Cloak until it returned Dumbledore's quill. When he tried to put it away, the quill snapped in his hand. He fought the temptation to break something else in frustration.

"Invisibility, then!" The sorcerer said exasperatedly, throwing his hands up in the air in defeat. "Come on, it's not anyone can notice that!"

"Dementors are blind creatures, Mister Strange. They detect emotions for location."

"Oh, then we're all good." Stephen said. "I'll ask Wong to do it."

Dumbledore leaned forward. "I'm sorry?"

The Sorcerer Supreme blinked. "Oh. Yeah. Wong. You know, the Hong Kong Sanctum librarian?"

"I'm afraid I have no inkling as to who that is." Dumbledore said. His eyes suddenly twinkled with inspiration. "However, you stated earlier that you had excellent teleportation abilities, yes?"

Stephen nodded. "Yeah, the Sling Ring. Anyone can use it, really, you just need to train." He frowned. "And before you ask, no, I can't just open a portal there and solve this. I need to have been in the place before I can go there. Otherwise I end up in Iceland."

"Every time?"

"Without fail." He said gravely. " _Every. Single. Time."_

Dumbledore settled back in his chair. Stephen could practically _see_ the ideas and plans going through the older man's mind.

Finally, the old man's focus shifted back into reality. "If we are to accomplish this task," He began. "We will need to enlist the help of several others."

Stephen squinted. "Won't it be a little bit hard to find people willing to break into a top-security prison?"

Dumbledore smiled. "Of course not! Why would you ever think that was the case?"

The American sorcerer rubbed his temples. He had a feeling that this would be one of the most frustrating things he had ever signed up for.

O-O-O-O-O

Alastor Moody's false eye swiveled to face Stephen suspiciously. "Black?" He asked. "You want to free Sirius Black?!"

The sorcerer nodded. "Pretty much."

The next thing he knew, Moody had flipped him upside down against a table, and he was wrapped in heavy, thick cords.

Stephen struggled. Behind him, the Cloak nipped at his ear angrily, as if it was chastising him for getting the pair of them in this mess.

"Albus!" He called out, but then Moody had hit him with some kind of spell and sound couldn't come out of his mouth.

Moody bent down until he was directly in Stephen's face. "I don't know how you and your Death Eater buddy managed to Polyjuice Dumbledore, but there's no chance in hell you're pulling the wool over ol' Mad-Eye." He hissed.

Stephen wished he move his arms, if only to wipe the spittle that had landed on his face. _Very_ unhygienic.

"Bloody hell!" He heard someone cry out. Stephen wriggled to see who is was, but it was nigh-impossible to do such a thing at the horrendous angle he was stuck at.

"Moody, what have I told you about holding visitors hostage?!" The newcomer asked. The voice sounded feminine.

The grizzled man paused, wand still pointed at Stephen's nose. "Ah… Only if they're Death Eaters?"

"And if they're not?" The woman asked, as if talking to an impertinent child.

Moody slumped ever so slightly. "… Don't do it?"

"There we go!" The woman said cheerfully. "So, let the lad off and we can have a chat about all this, alright?"

"No!" Moody hissed vehemently, against the idea before the newcomer even finished talking. "Tonks, this guy wants to let Sirius Black loose! He's a Death Eater!"

Stephen would have liked to make a bitter response, but he since he was currently tied to a table and rendered mute, he opted to remain silent.

"He's a Death Eater, you say?"

The man nodded enthusiastically.

Tonks tapped her foot. "Did you check his sleeve, then?"

Made-Eye Moody froze. His magical prosthetic eye swiveled in its socket.

"No…" He trailed off.

Stephen's cords were suddenly torn apart by another spell, and before he could do anything, Moody's rough calloused hands were ripping up his sleeve. "You see!" Moody called out to Tonks. "He's a Death Eater! Just-"

That was when he realized that Stephen's bare arm was lacking anything resembling a tattoo.

"… Look." He finished glumly. "Right, get Albus in here. He better explain what's going on, or I'm having that bloody phoenix of his for dinner tonight."

O-O-O-O-O

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled behind his half-moon spectacles. "Do you understand my scenario now, my boy?"

Remus Lupin blearily stared at his old professor. He raised his Firewhiskey again, chugging down the rest of the bottle.

"Lemme get this straight," He slurred. "You want me to go'n help get goddamn Sirius Black outta jail, after what he did?" He drunkenly got to his feet. "He killed 'em, Professor. Black killed James, 'n Peter, 'n Lily, remember?"

"Actually," Dumbledore began carefully, swapping the fourth bottle Remus was whipping out with a glass of water, "I have very good evidence proving that Sirius Black, in fact, was completely innocent of his accused crimes."

Lupin blinked.

"Your friend didn't betray the rest of your 'Marauders', Remus." Dumbledore summarized.

"Then who did?" The werewolf asked, Summoning the bottle of alcohol out of his old professor's hands.

The Headmaster gave a long sigh, Vanishing the bottle before Remus could grab it. The young man sulked over the death of his Firewhiskey. "I don't know."

Remus frowned. "But Black didn't do it?"

"No," Dumbledore said gravely. "No, whoever betrayed the Potters to Lord Voldemort was somebody else."

The last remnants of Lupin's old Gryffindor courage shone in his eyes. "Then I don't care what I have to do. I'm gonna get Padfoot outta Azkaban or die trying."

O-O-O-O-O

Dumbledore, Moody, Tonks, Stephen and Lupin had all gathered up in the Headmaster's office. Schematics littered the desk, with schedules and lists and ideas all dotted around on various bits of parchment. The faint evening light, when combined with the flickering Everlasting Torches, gave everything a sinister, mysterious glow.

To an invisible onlooker, it would have looked exactly like they were planning a break in, or perhaps a robbery.

Of course, any invisible onlookers would most likely be dead or unconscious by that time, seeing as Alastor Moody was in the room.

Up on its pedestal, Fawkes the phoenix was having an extraordinarily difficult battle with the Cloak, which was currently chasing its tail feathers. The bright red and gold bird shrieked, snapping angrily at the red fabric.

Of course, the amazingly intense duel fought at the top of the room by the rest of the office's inhabitants. Dumbledore would never come to realize just how Fawkes lost four of the shiniest feathers in his plumage, and Stephen would never come to understand what the Cloak would ever want to do with some shiny appendages of a bird.

Dumbledore pointed a finger at the most central diagram, which was accompanied by several carefully written dot points.

"With Alastor and Nymphadora opening up that gates-"

"My name is _Tonks."_

"My apologies, dear girl. As I was saying, with Alastor and _Tonks_ opening up the gates, we should be able to have my trusted ally Stephen here come through the entrance with them."

"I'm sorry, sir," Remus began. "But how can he do that? If Moody's coming through for a surveillance check, they won't allow anyone who isn't a qualified part of the Ministry."

Stephen looked down at the plans carefully, scanning everything he could see to make sure he would memorize it. "My magic has access to something called the Mirror Dimension. I still move around the normal world, but I'm completely invisible."

He frowned. "Of course, I also have a bit of a problem understanding what goes on in there. Everything's like an optical illusion to me, since I'd be the one who's open the portal."

Dumbledore waved a hand at Lupin. "And that's where you come in, young man. If you follow Stephen there, you should be exempt from at least a slight majority of the visions he sees. The two of you can follow Alastor and Tonks down to the South East cell wing, and hopefully be able to accompany Sirius Black out of there safely."

Tonks smiled. "Huh," She said happily. "What could go wrong?"

O-O-O-O-O

 **Hey guys, it's SaS again! Just so you all know, this chapter's planning isn't the big fat master plan for the end of the story. There's still more characters to come, including but not limited to Snape, Wong, and possibly even some Cloak on cloak action! See you soon!**


	3. Chapter 3

_Attempt One of the 'Get-Sirius-Black-Out-Of-Azkaban' Action Plan._

 _Phase One: The Entry._

"You ready?" Stephen asked Lupin. His Cloak rippled in the Everlasting Storm charm that surrounded Azkaban.

The werewolf braced himself for the worst, clutching his wand. "As I'll ever be, I guess."

The Sorcerer Supreme took a deep breath, called up an image of the Mirror Dimension, and began charging up the portal.

"Remember," He began, as the orange sparks expanded. "Whatever you do, try not to vomit."

And then the two men jumped inside.

Remus took one long look at the warping, distorted rocks he was standing on and the prison in the distance that was slowly turning its entrance inside out.

He vomited.

Stephen made a face, hopping backwards. The Cloak of Levitation acted similarly, pushing the pair up into the air.

Once Lupin had finished, dizzily gasping for breath, Strange gestured at the puddle, which was starting to drip upwards. "You may want to, uh, clean that up."

Lupin glared daggers at the sorcerer. " _Evanesco,"_ He muttered, and the puddle vanished.

The wizard cast a Feather-Light charm on his body and clothing, and paused when nothing happened.

"Isn't this supposed to be working?" Remus asked. "Why aren't I flying like you?"

"Levitating," Stephen corrected. The former surgeon frowned. "I've seen other light objects go flying when I'm in here, so it doesn't make any sense that you're not. I guess it could be something to do with you being organic matter and all that, but Wong still won't let me into the manuscripts after what I did with the Eye."

Lupin nodded, having absolutely no idea what the floating person in front of him had just said. "I see."

Stephen shrugged. "Also, I never bothered to take Physics back in high school. Didn't see the point when I was going into medicine."

"What are physics?"

The Sorcerer Supreme jerked backwards in surprise. "Don't you know what science is?"

"I'm a wizard." The werewolf pointed out. "I learnt magic, not maths like you muggles."

"Not a muggle," Stephen sang, swooshing away childishly. "I'm a _sorcerer._ "

"You started out as a muggle though."

"And we can all establish that I'm not anymore, right?" Stephen asked. He looked around, searching for objectors. Since he was limited to an audience of one wizard and one overgarment, the American settled for silently gloating to himself.

Remus realized something that would solve his dilemma. "Hey. Mister sorcerer."

"I'm a Doctor, actually-"

"Yeah, I know. Can't I just Apparate over to the Azkaban entrance?"

Stephen scrunched his brow, considering the idea. "That's the teleporting thing you guys do, right?"

"Right."

The sorcerer bit his lip. "I don't see why not."

Remus didn't bother with a reply. He opted for spinning in a circle, focusing on the increasingly shifting landscape in the distance. _Destination, determination-_

 _CRACK._

The Sorcerer Supreme realized what happened, and sulked. "Why can't we do that?"

The Cloak didn't reply. It was too busy unclipping one of his belts, trying to take it off him.

Stephen raised an eyebrow, swatting the red fabric away. "Is there any chance I can trade you in for a Cloak of Teleportation?"

The Cloak plucked part of his moustache, and Stephen swore in pain, flailing. "I get it! I get it! Stop!"

O-O-O-O

As Remus began casting the incantation for the Patronus Charm, Stephen cut in. "So, how does that send a message to Moody?"

Lupin shrugged. "Magic."

"But…" The other man racked his brain, trying to simplify the question. "But we're in another _dimension._ Doesn't that… Cancel it out?"

The werewolf sniggered at Stephen's lack of knowledge. "Patroni are made from emotion, Mister Strange. They can travel anywhere."

Stephen didn't bother to correct Remus. Instead, he spent the moment musing over the nugget of information, and Lupin returned to casting. The summoned silvery wolf listened closely as Remus gave it his message, nodded, and vanished from sight.

"How long is this going to take?" Stephen asked.

"Shouldn't be long," Remus replied. "Moody and Tonks should be near where we're standing. As long as Tonks' disguise works, and they're still here, they'll get the code in maybe a minute."

The werewolf paused for a second, the gears clogging upon a sudden realization. "Wait, aren't there guards? Won't they see the Patronus?"

"Why do you think Tonks is disguised?" Stephen asked, taking out the coded newspaper for Sirius from his robes. He opened it, checking to make sure the hidden message was still there. "She's pretending to be the Minister right now. Dumbledore says he gets Patronus messages all the time from the Departments."

Right after he finished speaking, the warping and twisting gates of Mirror-Azkaban began to creak open. Remus and Stephen strolled inside, looking through the shifting hallway.

"Now, where's Sirius Black supposed to be again?"

"Bottom floor." Remus recited from memory. "The maximum security wing, inside the north-east sector."

The two men continued along the prison hallway for another minute, when Stephen felt a sudden tendril of dread seep into his bones. When he saw Remus shudder, he knew the wizard had gone through the same experience.

"What was that?"

Remus turned, his face going pale. "The guards." He said gravely. "They're coming through."

And then the Dementors struck.

The Sorcerer Supreme shot into the air, the Cloak of Levitation flapping behind him. "How do we stop them?"

" _EXPECTO PATRONUM!"_ Lupin roared, and his silvery wolf tore into one of the creatures. "Happy feelings!" He yelled back. "And positive emotions! Do you have a spell for that?"

Stephen whirled, giving the werewolf his best skeptical look. "Of course not!" He hollered. "What else works?"

"Nothing!" A trio of Dementors surged at the wizard, and Remus cast a second Patronus, knocking them backward.

Stephen dropped to the ground, and the Cloak shot off his shoulders, enwrapping itself around the closest Dementor.

The cloth started folding in on itself, crushing the Dark creature to a tenth of its size.

An instant later, another one lunged at the Cloak from nowhere, claws outstretched-

 _RIIIIIIIIIIP._

-And the Dementor tore the Cloak in two.

"NO!" Stephen roared, running after his Cloak, but a wall of the monsters swooped in front of him, blocking his way.

The former surgeon bared his teeth, raising his arms in a customary battle stance. A bolt of orange-red lighting surged between his fists. "Then let's see if I can find a way," He snarled, and charged the horde of Dementors head-on.

The first creature he came across went right through Stephen's bolt, diving at his face, but the Sorcerer Supreme ducked, rolling underneath. He looked back, taking note of the singed black cloak the Dark monster wore.

 _So they could burn._

Stephen went through a mental list of all the strongest flame-inducing spells he knew, and hurriedly summoned blast of Everburning Flame from Kierrok the Damned's pits of fire.

It latched onto a half dozen of the Dementors, and they scattered, shrieking as their cloaks caught aflame. Stephen ignored them, pushing past the nightmarish faces until he found his Cloak, lying tattered on the ground.

"Lupin!" He called out, but his voice was drowned out by the swarms of Dementors all around him.

Flashes of fear and hatred and depression shot through his mind. Stephen fell to his knees, shielding his head protectively as clawed hands and corpse-like jaws mauled at him, digging into his arms and back.

It was hopeless.

He was going to die.

Stephen had failed.

He would never accomplish anything.

What was the point of coming here, anyway?

He curled himself into a ball as the Dementors raged around him, ripping his arms away from his face.

One of the hooded creatures in front of him crept closer, pulling back its hood, and Stephen glimpsed rotting flesh, soulless eyes, an open mouth, leeching away every single happy thought he'd ever known-

 _CRACK._

And suddenly Remus was there, snarling angrily, and his silver, glistening wolf was tearing through the Dementors, and the werewolf was grabbing Stephen's arm, and then-

 _CRACK._

And then they were back in one of the hallways of Azkaban, but the Dementors were stampeding after them, pushing past each other at a chance to taste their souls, and-

 _CRACK._

And Remus was saying something about an evacuation and Moody and Tonks to his Patronus as the wicked walls of the prison began to close in on them, as the illusions of the Mirror Dimension became twisted beyond anything Stephen could comprehend, and the entrance wasn't where it had been before, and the Dementors were surging from every direction he could see, before-

 _CRACK._

Before they were in a place that Stephen didn't recognize, there were cells near him, matted and filthy and had metal bars on the floor that were curving into an impossible complex pattern, and the Dementors were coming down from the ceiling just as Lupin was blasting a hole through one of the walls but-

 _CRACK._

They were outside of Azkaban's walls, but the entire prison was looping over their heads and Stephen was having trouble keeping conscious and they were falling, falling down into the ocean and the sharp, sharp rocks, and Remus was shouting at him to wake up, to get out his Sling Ring, and the Dementors were crawling out through the new hole in the side of Azkaban, chasing after them and-

 _CRACK._

They were back at on solid ground, on top of the twisting and bending jagged rocks, and a pressure Stephen didn't know he had was lifting off of his head, and he could think properly again, and he had brought out his Sling Ring, and the orange portal was opening up just as the Dementors started after them again, and-

Stephen and Remus landed on the floor of Dumbledore's office with an ungraceful splat. Behind them, the portal into the Mirror Dimension closed up, right before the Dementors could get inside it.

The Sorcerer Supreme rolled onto his back, groaning.

The ripped, torn red fabric that was the Cloak of Levitation shook in his broken hands.

In the corner of his eye, he could see Dumbledore rushing towards him, with another man with greasy black hair and a large, hooked nose in tow behind him.

"Help," He croaked, right before he passed out.

 _Attempt One of the 'Get-Sirius-Black-Out-Of-Azkaban' Action Plan._

 _Result: Failure._


	4. Chapter 4

Stephen awoke with a start, eyes flying open.

He was in a cot, he realized. Sterile white walls gazed down at him from every direction.

At first, he was sure that he was back in his old hospital. Christine would be somewhere, most likely attending another patient, and she'd come back to him and everything would return to how it used to be…

Then his gaze landed on the man in the stained black robes and greasy dark hair standing over him, and the memories of Azkaban and the Dementors kicked in.

"Wuzz goin' on?" Stephen said blearily. He grimaced, rubbing the sleep crust from his eyes. "Where am I?"

The man with the hooked nose sneered. "The hospital wing." He muttered. His low voice was barely discernible, even in the quiet room.

Stephen licked his lips, his tongue running over the dry and cracked skin. "Yeah, I figured." He frowned, looking up at the man in the black robes.

He stifled a yawn, trying to think through the thick haze of sleep clouding his thoughts. "Wait a second… Do you… work for Dumbledore?"

"Obviously," The man in the black robes sneered.

"Then you're…" Stephen stopped. He mentally doubled back, checking to make sure if the name was right. The messy, unkept hair, the filthy, matted robes… "You are one… Rubeus Hagrid, aren't you?" He asked.

The man in the black robes stopped, and glared into Stephen's eyes, and he felt a sharp spike stab into his brain. He scowled, clutching his forehead.

"My _name_ is Severus Snape, the Head of House Slytherin and Potion Master of Hogwarts," The man in the black robes snarled. " _Remember that_. It would do you well to respect your superiors, you _ignorant whelp."_

 _Oh, no he didn't._

" _Excuse me?_ " Stephen spat. "Hate to break it to you, buddy, but I'm the _Sorcerer Supreme_. If anyone outranks anyone here, it's me. So _watch your tongue, you sonuvabitch."_

Severus Snape bared his teeth, and Stephen's migraine tripled in severity. He winced in pain.

" _You dare-"_

 _"_ Oh _,_ you bet I do _-"_

 _"_ I have the power to make you _suffer like nothing you've ever-"_

 _"_ You want to see pain? _I'll show you pain, alright-"_

The door of the hospital wing creaked open, and Stephen spotted Dumbledore enter the room. The Headmaster gave a grandfatherly smile at the two men.

"Ah, Stephen! And Severus! I take it you've both become well acquainted with each other?"

"You could say that," Stephen grumbled. He shot Severus Snape a look that promised the pure suffering and agony of the damned. Snape responded with a stare that swore Stephen an incoming world of pain.

They both looked back at Dumbledore. "Yes, I've gotten to know your acquaintance very well, sir," Snape said.

Dumbledore beamed, completely oblivious of the pair's hidden animosity. Either that, or he was internally reveling in their shared hatred of each other.

Suddenly, Stephen remembered why he was in the hospital wing in the first place. The blood drained from his face.

"The Cloak," He said, looking up at Dumbledore. "What happened to it? Is it alright?"

Dumbledore's face tightened. "Oh, dear. I had hoped I didn't have to discuss this with you so early on." He said, sitting down by Stephen's bedside. A little, fearful voice in Stephen's head whispered that this was a Very Bad Sign.

"Your Cloak of Levitation was built using magic completely foreign to me," Dumbledore began. The old man had pulled out his wand, fingering the orb-like patterns along it. "At first, we were unable to repair it at all. It has some kind of Charm preventing almost any physical changes, from what we could gather."

"You're wrong," Stephen said. His heart was thumping ferociously inside his chest. "The Dementors. They managed to do it. They ripped it apart."

Dumbledore's bright blue eyes met Stephen's through his half-moon spectacles. "You're right. They did." His gaze turned back to his wand. "And that is why I did not stop until I found the means by which to fix it."

Stephen perked up. "So it's okay?"

"To an extent." Said the Headmaster. Snape hung by Stephen's bedside like a wary shadow, unsure of what to do. "After many efforts, I have mostly repaired your Cloak's physical damages."

The Sorcerer Supreme drew imaginary lines, connecting Dumbledore's status on the Cloak and his own body's flaws.

"It's not going to be the same again, is it?" He asked.

"No." Dumbledore said. His grip tightened around his wand. "No, it won't."

Stephen slowly swallowed, taking it all in. He systematically got to his feet, staring into space.

"I'm sorry." The older man whispered. He looked away. "I should have never asked you to do this."

Stephen blinked. "What are you talking about?" He asked.

Snape turned to Stephen. "His situation with Black, you-" He paused, stopped. Snape awkwardly shifted back to his staring contest with the curtains.

"No, really," The American sorcerer started, whirling to face Dumbledore. "Of _course_ you should have asked me. I'm the reason why you have to do this in the first place!"

He froze, realizing that no, in fact, he wasn't. Stephen was in no way responsible for a crazy man-eating table. In fact, he'd volunteered.

This whole thing had put Stephen completely out of his depth. Wizards, magic prisons, magic _creatures,_ death-defying breakouts. He had partnered up with a werewolf, a shapeshifter and a war veteran he'd never known to rescue a person he'd never met. For heaven's sake, he was a _doctor._

It wasn't like when he was the only one who could stop Dormammu, or the sole defense against Kaecilius.

It wasn't like Mordo or Infinity Stones or whatever mystical threats plagued the world.

It wasn't all about him.

And suddenly, Stephen had a revelation, standing smack-dab in the middle of the hospital wing in some unknown part of England.

If Stephen was going to be involved in something that wasn't about him… He might as well find a reason to change that.

The Cloak of Levitation, an artifact that had lasted for thousands of years, had been torn to pieces by the Dementors of Azkaban.

Stephen was going to make them pay for what they'd done.

If this breakout wasn't about him, he would _make_ this all about him.

Everything had just gotten personal.

* * *

 **Hey, everyone - I apologize for this little bit of filler, but I felt as though an update was very badly needed. While I hope you're all enjoying the story, real life and other more important writing duties are currently taking priority.**

 **In the last four days during the week, I've gone through seven examinations that have the potential to change my life.**

 **Yeah. I know.**

 **This sort of pressure has been increasing a lot lately, and it's taking a savage priority over all other matters. Almost all of my rapidly-dwindling free time is now being spent working with The Freelancer Collaboration on their latest fanfiction, a DC/Hunger Games crossover _'When Blood Calls For Blood.'_**

 **A sequel to the super-amazing, completed Hunger Games crossover epic, _'In The End, You Always Kneel',_ I have been given the chance to write the perspective of Harvey ****Dent of District Two.**

 **(For the less nerdy, he is better known as Two-Face... The gangster dude with half a melted face. The one with the coin and stuff. From Batman. Yeah, for a while I forgot he was a thing, too, and I'm the one writing him.)**

 **Hell, you don't even have to read DC comics to get the concept. Superman and Wonder Woman and the Joker and Harley Quinn are in the Hunger Games, people. You'll work out who everyone else is as time goes on. I did for the first one.**

 **I probably will only have to write about five to a dozen chapters over the next two years, depending on how awesome you guys find my writing skills. The first chapter of ' _When Blood Calls For Blood'_ comes out soon, so I'd recommend reading through ' _In The End, You Always Kneel'_ as something to do without my chapters to entertain you. **

**You can read through all of the Tribute Reapings or skip right into the Games themselves; I myself initially jumped from chapter 4 to 40, and I still actually had a good idea what was going on. The Games are amazing, and I can see now why getting kids to fight to the death was so entertaining.**

 **But long story short; I'm sorry to have to say it, but expect slow, sporadic updates for a while. I probably won't have much time to produce much work anymore. Instead, please shift all of your attention to ' _When Blood Calls For Blood,"_ posted by The Freelancer Collaboration, and be sure to cheer extra loud when you see Harvey Dent come on!**

 **Adios!**


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